


Revelations

by lupinity87



Category: This is Spinal Tap (1984)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-12
Updated: 2007-07-12
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lupinity87/pseuds/lupinity87
Summary: "This thing between you and her," Nigel continued, his eyes focused on David and his voice dark, "it's not special. She doesn't love you, you know. She loves David St. Hubbins, voice of Spinal Tap. She doesn't love Dave."Set backstage towards the end of the film. Rated for F-bombs.





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal and Dreamwidth a long time ago - actually the first slash fic I ever posted online. Warnings for F-bombs and for terrible Teenage Fanfic Writer use of the English language (I may redraft this one day...)

A raucous din of cheering and stamping fans flooded the backstage room without warning and jolted Nigel out of his reverie, slouched on the sofa where Marty and the camera crew had left him to go and set up in front of the stage. Looking up, he was surprised to see David saunter casually into the room, the sound fading away to silence as the door closed with a heavy groan.

"Dave?" he questioned, standing up whilst remaining by the sofa. "You've got to go, the band -"

"Sod the band," David replied, flicking a strand of blond hair away from his eye. "They can wait a minute."

"What about your wife?"

"She's not my bloody wife, Nige!"

"Alright," he shrugged. "Your woman then, whatever. Bet she didn't give you permission to come back out here." He turned away to stare blankly at the sofa, his foot scuffing the floor as it kicked an imaginary stiletto-clad ankle.

"I don't _need_ her permission to do anything," David answered back in an increasing volume, pretending not to have heard Nigel's snort that followed the statement. "We don't need to be on stage for another couple of minutes, and besides, this has got nothing to do with her." He forced himself to calm his voice. "I want to talk to _you_ , Nigel, not to _the guitarist_ or anything to do with the band."

"Talk away, then," he replied half-heartedly after a pause, whilst the other half wondered who came up with the colour scheme for the sofa. Vomit orange.

David sighed, fully aware that Nigel was only partly paying attention. "Why are you here?"

Nigel looked up again, gazing across the length of the room. "I told you. I had to bring a message from Ian."

It was obvious to David that his ex-bandmate was trying to keep a neutral expression, refraining from showing any emotion, but the sad gaze in his eyes and the weariness in his voice betrayed him. Feeling frustrated at both the insincerity of Nigel's answer and the whole unpleasant situation between himself and - although he wouldn't admit it at the time - the best friend he'd ever had, he walked to the sofa and sat down on the armrest at the far end from Nigel.

"That's not the reason," he muttered wearily, picking at the sofa's PVC piping beside his leg. "He could have phoned, or written a letter, or sent someone else to do it - you and I both know that." He looked back up to Nigel's face. "Really. Why are you here?"

Nigel sat down on the opposite arm of the sofa, one foot propped up on the seat while the other swung down on the other side of the end to brush against the floor. "I dunno," he admitted, honestly. "I just... wanted to know, I suppose." He noticed David's confused expression, and elaborated. "The band. I wanted to know what you're doing now. Music-wise. If it's the same as it was, if it's different now. If it's better without me." He paused, feeling more than seeing David shift at the other end of the seat. "And I suppose," he added tentatively, "to see if you're the same - the people, that is, not the band. To see if it was different without me."

David listened to Nigel's words, unconsciously surprised at how silent the room was when he stopped talking, and uncomfortable at breaking the silence. "And were the answers what you were expecting?" he asked quietly.

Nigel huffed a sigh. "Yeah, they were," he admitted. "Although I can't say that they were what I was hoping."

"And what were you hoping?" the singer asked, watching Nigel's wry grin.

"I dunno. Maybe that you'd all missed me." His eyes flicked up to David's face briefly, before he looked away again. "I'll be honest with you, because - well, because you're you," he said, as though he made perfect sense, "I half had my hopes up that I might get a phone call in the middle of Corrie, asking me back." He continued looking down, almost feeling ashamed at revealing the thought.

"You know I couldn't do that, Nige," replied David. "You left us, and me - I've never walked away from you." He paused, before quietly adding, "It really hurt, you doing that."

Nigel's chest tightened at his words. "I never left you, David. I left Jeanine." He heard a frustrated sigh from the other man, but continued anyway. "David disappeared when she came. And I miss him. I really do."

David stood up from the sofa in aggravation. "This _is_ me, Nigel! Can't you see that?" He looked at Nigel, who was still looking away as though his words wouldn't matter if he didn't pay attention to them. "Jeanine is part of me, she comes with the package now!"

"I think the package is the only reason Jeanine's there at all," the guitarist replied with a sneer.

"How dare you!" David snapped angrily, almost scaring Nigel with the raw emotion that seemed to flood the room in a tidal wave.

"Well it's true, she's all superficial with her men!" cried Nigel, standing up. "You know who she is, you know all those guys she did before you! All singers, or guitarists, or bassists or whatever! She's a bloody groupie, just because she hung around you for a bit longer than the others doesn't mean it's because it's you! She wouldn't be with you if it wasn't for the band, and you know it!"

"She might have met me because of the band, but that doesn't mean we're not special, alright? It's different to that! It's more than that!"

"So that's why I saw her trying to get Derek into bed after half a dozen vodkas then, the night before I left, right?"

The sudden tensing of David's shoulders at those words told Nigel that the information was new to him. Nonetheless, he still tried to argue out of it, his voice strangely subdued. "Well, it's part of the lifestyle, ain't it? It's just one of those things."

"This thing between you and her," Nigel continued, his eyes focussed on David and his voice dark, "it's not special. She doesn't love you, you know. She loves David St. Hubbins, voice of Spinal Tap. She doesn't love Dave."

"And what the _fuck_ would you know about whether she loves me or not?" the singer shouted, spitting with rage.

"Because _I do_!"

A moment of utter silence fell on the room, as David's snarling face turned into a bewildered frown, and Nigel's expression was almost more surprised at his own words than David was.

"What?" the singer questioned, quietly.

Nigel swallowed, seeing no way of backing out now. "I love you, alright?" he replied, his voice wavering as he watched David's stunned expression, but too mesmerised to look away. "I fucking love you." He continued watching his expression with trepidation, waiting for some response for a few seconds that felt to him like an eternity. Receiving no feedback in David's facial expression, and feeling like the fool that he'd just proved himself to be, he turned around and headed out of the door, the handle slamming against the adjacent wall with the force with which he opened it. He almost didn't care what David thought anymore, as he hastily walked down the corridor away from the room. Nothing mattered now. The cat was out of the bag, and had apparently shredded up whatever bit of friendship had remained until now, permanently beyond repair. He would go back home to London, and never make contact with David again.

Rushing down the corridor nearly at a jog, he was startled when he was bodily pulled from behind so that his back was forced against a wall. Before he had a chance to realise what was going on, a mouth was roughly forced against his own, tasting of cigarettes and gin, while thick hands groped at his head and neck. Opening his eyes to a familiar shock of blond hair, his mouth could do nothing but form a wide smile, causing their teeth to clash together in careless desperation as he joined in, roughly kissing back with a release of passion which had been building up for years. Running his hands frenziedly through the blonde hair and along his scalp, Nigel forced himself to hold David's head back, finally slowing their kiss as they stopped and leant their foreheads together, panting heavily to catch their breaths as they gazed into each other's flushed faces, blue eyes into brown.

"Dave?" the guitarist murmured, trying to control the dumbfounded grin on his face as he was held against the wall by David's body pressing against his own.

"Shhh," he whispered, the same grin forming on his own face as he brushed the dark fringe away from Nigel's forehead with his fingertips. "I need to go, we're supposed to be on now."

Nigel nodded with realisation, and kissed the edge of David's mouth again as he continued to speak, reluctant to let him go.

"Wait for me, okay?" David requested, almost nervous that Nigel might refuse.

The guitarist stared into David's sky blue eyes, dazed at the experience of seeing them this close. Lightly brushing his fingertips through the singer's blond hair and allowing a few strands to slide across his knuckles as his hand stopped to rest on his cheek, he knew of only one possible answer he could give.

"Always."

With another brief stolen kiss and a flurry of blond hair, David was gone, leaving Nigel standing in the corridor wondering if security would let him watch the gig from the stage wings.

It was worth a try, he decided, as he left the corridor to head for the stage area.


End file.
